Seventy-five percent of abuse-victim homicides occur when the victim tries to leave. Female victims of abuse are five to six times more likely to be murdered with a gun when a gun is in the house. An intimate partner is guilty of the murder at least forty percent of the time. Bill Garrison had strangled Allison. He had beaten her. He had made her live in fear for her life.
“You,” Emmy said. “You murdered Allison. You shot Mandy.”
“Jesus,” Bill said. “I didn’t do a damn thing. Get that fucking gun out of my face. This ismyhouse.”
His righteous indignation set off a kind of rage that Emmy hadn’t felt in over a decade. She nodded for Jude to cover her, then shoved the Glock into her holster, because if Bill tried anything, shooting him would be too fast. “I’m telling you this once before I make you. Lace your fingers behind your head.”
Bill didn’t raise his hands. He lunged for her. Emmy didn’t have to think about what to do. She had spent countless nights alone in bed thinking about all the times Jonah had lunged for her and all she’d done was wait for it to happen. She grabbed Bill’s wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, kicked out his feet, and slammed him onto the floor.
Then she jammed her knee into his back and shifted her weight on top of him.
“Jesus Christ!” he screamed. “I didn’t kill her!”
“You beat her enough times.” She started checking his pockets. Threw out his wallet, ChapStick, a wad of money. “Lace your fingers behind your head.”
He tried to buck her off. “I’m not—”
Emmy unholstered her Glock and pressed the muzzle into hisfat neck. She leaned down, put her mouth close to his ear. “Give me a reason to hurt you.”
Bill slowly moved his hands to the back of his head. “Emmy, listen to me—”
“You have a right to remain silent.” Emmy holstered her weapon and took out her handcuffs. “You have a right to an attorney.”
“No,” Bill whispered. “No-no-no—”
Emmy finished reading Bill his rights as she tightened the cuffs around his wrists. “You’re going to prison, asshole. You’re gonna know what it’s been like living in this house. The fear grinding you down every day. You won’t be able to sleep or eat or take a shit without someone giving you permission.”
“You don’t have proof!” he screamed. “Tell me what proof you have that ties me to murdering Allison!”
Emmy jerked the cuffs at the bracelet to make him stand. “You can’t arrest me.” The smug look was back on his face.
“You stupid bitch. You don’t have any evidence.”
“The GBI will be processing the evidence while you’re sitting in jail, dumbass.”
Jude backed into the hall, the shotgun resting on her shoulder.
Emmy shoved Bill toward the door.
“This is a cordoned-off crime scene. That’s illegal trespass and obstruction of justice. Plus, you assaulted a police officer, and this stupid bitch is gonna press charges.”
“You.” Bill was talking to Jude. “I can explain this.”
Jude shrugged, but she was looking at Emmy. “I’m happy to listen.”
“She’s crazy.” Bill locked his knees. “She’s framing me for murder. She thinks I hurt my wife.”
Jude asked, “Why would she think that?”
“I told you she’s nuts. Look at her!”
“Let’s go.” Emmy kicked the back of his leg.
Bill’s knees buckled. “You fucking bitch.”
“There he is.” Emmy pushed him down the hallway. “Big strong man who beats on women.”
“I’m gonna sue you.”
